


Control, Control

by RunawayCaboose



Series: My irregular heart beat is starting to correct itself [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Coulson and May are police officers, Fitz and his scarves, Fitz had a bad day, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, allusions to rape, fuck Grant guys, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunawayCaboose/pseuds/RunawayCaboose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>((read If I'm lost, then how can I find myself? first))</p><p>They found him, maybe, and Fitz reorganizes his book shelves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control, Control

Fitz’s apartment was a sacred space, organized just so, and no one was allowed into it but him, only him. Sure, his books and DVDs were on the same shelf but they were organized by colour and alphabetically (control, control), a drastic change done at three a.m., but it was fine.

It wasn’t quite one a.m. when the phone rang, raising Fitz off the floor from where he was organizing his pens (control, control) by colour and size. He held the phone to his ear, he hated phone calls, it was hard for him to talk.

“Is this Mr. Leo Fitz?” He recognized the voice.

“Officer Coulson?” He was the one that had found Fitz, or so he had been told, he was a bit unconscious at the time.

“Yeah. Look, Fitz,” The man on the other side sighed. “We think we have him.” Fitz froze, pen in hand. “You mind coming down to I.D. him?”

“I-I’ve told you, I did-didn’t see him.”

“I know, I know, Fitz. But anything can be helpful. He’s in lockup now, on suspicion, but we can’t hold him for long.” Fitz swallowed.

“I’ll be there.” He hung up and tried to breathe (control, control)

He rode the bus, curled tightly into the corner, hood pulled over his face. He avoided the other late night passengers in the fluorescent light. The plastic seats were uncomfortable, but he wasn’t paying attention. 

The police station was familiar and Coulson was waiting for him in front of it. Coulson smiled grimly at him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon, kid. You can do this, okay?” Fitz didn’t look up.

“Okay.” Coulson lead the way to the visitation room.

“Grant Ward, 27, just see if you recognize him at all, okay? I’ll be right out here.” Fitz took a deep breath and pushed open the door. He was shaking as he sat down and he dropped the phone receiver twice, but eventually managed to press it to his ear and look up.

Fitz didn’t recognize him, he hadn’t even seen the man that did this to him, but there was something in his eyes, something non-human, feral, and it scared Fitz. It had to be him.

“Hello.” Grant Ward said, deep voice, smooth tone, giving away nothing. He slowly put his hand up next to his mouth and whispered softly, softly, into the phone. “You think they can keep me here, huh? What if I told them, all your friends, how you begged, moaned, for it? Do they know you’re such a slut?” Fitz’s fingernails dug into his open palm (control, control). “You wouldn’t want them to find out, would you? You tell them about me, I’ll tell them everything. Watch out, because when I get out, I’m coming for you again, and I won’t lose you this time.” The phone slipped out of Fitz’s hand and the chair fell backwards to the floor as he stood abruptly. He scrambled out the door and Grant Ward laughed behind him.

Coulson caught him right before he fell and stood him upright.

“Let’s go to my office, we’ll talk there.” Fitz let himself be led like a horse, he had no energy for anything else. He settled himself into a more comfortable chair across from Coulson and shook his head at the offered pastry, he couldn’t eat. His nails dug further into his skin (control, control). “Was that him?” Fitz shuddered.

“I don’t- don’t- I don’t- don’t- don’t-” Fitz stopped his futile attempts for speech and motioned for the pen and paper on Coulson’s desk, which he handed over quickly.

 

i don’t know it might have been but i didn’t see his face 

 

Fitz turned the paper around so Coulson could read it.

“There’s nothing you recognize? Not even his voice?” Fitz shook his head. He didn’t know for sure that it was him, anyway.

 

I’m sorry

 

“Don’t be, Fitz, you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not your fault, remember?” Fitz nodded, then nodded again. He remembered, of course, but did that make it true…? “I’m going to let you go home, okay? You think of anything, you come see me. I’ll drop by the bakery tomorrow, huh, check on you?” Fitz nodded, and he left, hunched over, clawing up his arms.

He went to a different coffee shop, one he had never been to before, one that was open the three a.m., one where no one would know where he was. He didn’t try to say his order, he wrote it down on Coulson’s paper and he was given his too sweet macchiato, but he needed something sickly sweet, something saccharine. He drank it in silence and lingered long after he had finished, afraid to go onto the streets alone, but eventually he did. He ran from streetlamp to streetlamp, pausing at each one to look around, to see if he was being followed. It took him to long to get home and he was dead tired by the time he had reached his apartment.

And he was angry, god, he was angry. He made a high keening sound and he threw his keys to the floor. It was like the floodgates had opened. He ran his arm along his bookshelf, knocking everything onto the floor. He had picked up a book and was about to throw it when he remembered the control. So he sat down and fixed the books, organizing by colour and alphabetically (control, control). He was organizing until 5:13 when he left for work, a thick black scarf wrapped around his neck and a notebook tucked under his arm.

Simmons had already unlocked when he had gotten there and she was laughing behind the counter with a recently returned from vacation Skye.

“Hello, Fitz!” Skye smiled, laughter still bubbling up. He gave her a small wave and smile. “Woah, you sleep at all last night?” Fitz shrugged and fished the pen from behind his ear.

 

it’s debatable

 

Sky laughed again as she read it.

“Well, get some sleep tonight, eh? And tell me if you need to go home, okay?” Fitz nodded, ignored Simmons’ concerned look, and retreated into the back, settling into the mindless aspects of his job. Eventually, Skye came back to see him.

“You finally asked Mack out, huh?” Fitz nodded, half listening to her. “Finally, you two have been pining over each other for months. Really, though, Fitz… Are you okay?” Fitz wiped his floury hands on his apron and reached for the notebook.

 

bad talking day

 

Skye nodded.

“Like at the beginning? Don’t worry, man, you’ll figure this all out. Plus, it’ll only be easier. I have to actually do my job, though, so I’ll talk to you in a bit.” He was left in blissful semi-silence, until Simmons interrupted it.

“Coulson is here for you.” Fitz grabbed his notebook yet again and ventured to Coulson’s table where he sat with May, his deputy, he ignored everyone else.

“How are you, Fitz?” Coulson asked. Fitz shrugged and made a fluttering motion with his hand. “Not a talking day?” He shook his head. Coulson and May chatted with him as much as they could, him writing something every once in awhile and tugging his scarf tighter and tighter, before they had to go back to work and he retreated to the back, away from prying eyes.

He did come out once the store was closed and the customers were gone to help clean up. As he was towelling off tables, Mack came through the door, presumably to walk Fitz home.

“Simmons, Skye.” He greeted. “Fitz.” Fitz looked up at him, well aware that he looked horrible. “Not talking?”  _ If I talk I might tell and he wouldn’t have that he would kill me. _ Fitz shook his head and waved goodbye to the girls. The pair walked in almost comfortable silence until they stood in front of Fitz’s apartment building and he was pulling on his scarf. “Are you okay, Fitz?”

“I’m- I’m- I- I’m f…” He trailed off in frustration and nodded instead.

“Have a nice night, Turbo.” Mack smiled and watched Fitz disappear into his building. 

Fitz opened his apartment and started to pull the books from their shelves. He had done it wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> okay i hate grant.
> 
> also the font i originally used for fitz's hand writing was called indie flower and i feel like that's accurate


End file.
